Matchmakers
by Cora709
Summary: What should Santana and Brittany do when they've reached their happy ending and their love life couldn't be better? Meddle in the love lives of all their friends, of course! Sequel to Set the World on Fire


_Warning: very long-winded and probably unnecessary author's note below._

_I can't believe this happened, but somehow Glee sucked me back in. Blame the Brittana in season 6, who would've ever believed we'd see all that on screen? It did what I thought was impossible, made me get out this ancient fic that I started even before Set the World on Fire was finished, and blow the dust off it. This was originally intended to be just a short one-shot, set in the STWOF universe, but as usual it kept growing until it decided it was going to be a multi-chapter. So I'm technically calling it a sequel, even though I think of it as a shorter piece that's intended to be fun, fluffy, and romantic. No stress or angst here, I swear. And instead of doing each chapter as an episode, the way I did before, these chapters will be shorter and will be just scenes in the overall "episode" of the story._

_I feel the need to point out that the vast bulk of this fic was written in script format more than a year ago, a lot of it more than two years ago, so any similarities with current Glee canon are just coincidences. But I can't believe how well certain things align, like Rachel ending up with Jesse, or Brittana and Hummelberry heading back to school in New York. Some have asked whether I plan to write current canon fic, and I don't feel much need to because it's already so similar. Brittana aren't married (yet) in this verse, but they might as well be in terms of commitment. I'd prefer to keep Brittany a creative genius rather than a math genius, and I'd prefer to keep Klaine from infecting the city with their awfulness, which I can do in this canon. Also, I like my friendships better than the show's versions._

_But having said that, this beginning is still a bit of a trial run. I've never written fic for a show that's over, and I'd like to know how many people are interested in reading this before I devote more outrageous amounts of time to it, time that I know I really should be spending trying to make some money from my work. So please review if you think you're willing to keep reading to the end!  
_

_Random casting note: If anyone's interested, Allison DuPont is now basically played in my head by Tatiana Maslany-as-Alison Hendrix from Orphan Black. Even though I invented my character before that show started, that's so precisely how I envisioned her - an uptight, humorless thespian who walks like she has a rod up her spine. Even their names are the same, c'mon. So of course, cast her however you please, but I thought you'd like to know who I see when I'm writing... blame Tatiana's unearthly talent._

_Thanks to Shanna as always for her Broadway expertise, to Mel for the amazing professionally printed fic book that made remembering my own canon so much easier, and to Eli both for the book and for being my bestest friend and long distance soulmate!_

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Coffee. _Check_. Waffles with strawberries and whipped cream. _Check_. Vase. _Check_. Flower...

Whoops, she'd almost forgotten the flower. Brittany turned around and drew a single yellow rose from the display on the kitchen table, snipped the end of it with a pair of scissors from Mr. Bloom's cluttered junk drawer, and then slid it into the small, slender vase, just behind the plate of Belgian waffles. She moved the coffee cup and saucer an inch to the left, then stood back a bit to survey the breakfast tray with a slight smile of anticipation, hands clasped under her chin. _Perfect_.

Careful to keep it balanced, she lifted the tray and carried it out of the kitchen, toward the master bedroom, being extra cautious to watch her step in the dim lighting. Mr. Bloom's apartment was darker than theirs, the living room paneled in varnished maple bookshelves overflowing with his lifetime's worth of bibliomania. The drapes were likewise heavy and thick, perfect for a man who probably spent a good deal of his time hungover. When they were closed, even at the brightest part of the morning, they left the room in dim shadow, which also worked out well for convincing their talkative feathered friend that it wasn't really time to get up yet. Brittany tiptoed past the sheet-draped bird cage, hoping not to hear any muttered words about Tony Awards or man jugs. She paused, wincing, at a slight noise like feathers ruffling, but then continued on when there was nothing else.

Slipping into the dark, quiet bedroom, she tiptoed across the bare floor and set the tray gently down on the bedside table. Slowly, without making a sound, she crossed to the window and drew the drapes back, not all the way, just enough to let in a thin spear of morning light across the quilt. Then she moved over to the bed and sank down onto it in a sitting position, crossing her legs underneath her, getting comfortable, and preparing to indulge in one of her favorite morning rituals... watching Santana wake up.

For a while she sat without moving, elbow balanced on her knee, chin resting in her cupped palm, smitten expression on her face as she regarded the sleeping figure before her. There was no sound other than Santana's deep, restful breathing mixed with muffled traffic sounds from beyond the closed window.

But after a minute, Santana seemed to sense that she was being watched, and she began to stir. Brittany moved closer, stretching out beside her with her head propped on her hand, and whispered before she could even open her eyes, "Hiii, Sleeping Beauty."

Santana seemed to consider pretending she wasn't awake enough to respond, but a tiny smile gave her away. "Hi." She opened her eyes, and Brittany leaned down for a first kiss.

"You know what I was just thinking?" Brittany asked, pulling back. "When you're asleep, you look like a really hot angel."

She smiled again, still groggy. "How long have you been sitting there?"

"A while," Brittany admitted, cuddling up against her. "I love watching you sleep. Your super long eyelashes are all spread out on your cheeks, and your face is so peaceful..." She continued in a soft, lazy manner. "And your mouth is all soft and innocent-looking, like one of those fat naked babies in old paintings. It's hard to believe such savage words can come out of it when you're awake."

"What time is it?" Santana sounded disoriented, like she hadn't understood a word.

"Oh, here." Brittany sat up again, reaching for the mug on the table. "Coffee." She waited while Santana propped herself up a little, then held the mug to her lips while she took a sip. With their late sleeping schedule during this long, lazy summer, Santana had become more dependent than ever on her morning coffee to jolt her into true consciousness.

After a few more sips, she blinked away the last of sleep and then opened her eyes wider, seeming only now to fully recognize Brittany. "Hi," she said again, forgetting she'd already said it. Brittany took the opportunity to lean down for another kiss, since the first one might not have registered.

"Britt..." Santana said warily after they'd separated. She glanced toward the window. "Why is the sun in such a weird place?"

"Okay, I know it's earlier than we usually get up," Brittany said, "but... since it's our last day just to ourselves, I thought we shouldn't waste any of it."

She was referring to the fact that Kurt and Rachel were due to arrive home tomorrow from their two months away from the city; Rachel from a summer stock theater program in the Catskills she'd attended with Jesse St. James, Kurt from a stint as a counselor at a camp for gay youth in Vermont. And in just a week, Mr. Bloom's arrival would mean the end of their summer of housesitting. Their idyll of solitude was about to come to a close.

"Sleeping isn't wasting it," Santana protested, although she took another sip of her coffee. "Other than sex, what's better than sleeping?"

"Well, _I _have plans for us that involve being awake. So... drink up." She moved aside slightly to reveal the breakfast tray on the table behind her. "You hungry?"

"Brittany," Santana breathed, bringing a hand to her heart. "It's _beautiful_. God... I feel so guilty."

"Why?"

"Because you keep doing all these sweet, romantic things for me, and the one time I tried to make you breakfast in bed, it was an epic disaster."

"No," Brittany protested soothingly, "I loved it. I told you, I like my French toast dark."

"Britt..." Santana sounded sheepish. "We had to call the fire department."

"Yeah," she conceded with a lopsided smile. "Maybe not _quite _that dark."

Santana looked at the tray again, admiring it. "You're actually getting really good at this cooking thing."

"I know, right? It's weird, before I came here I had no idea I could cook. It's like, New York makes you realize you can do all kinds of things you never even imagined. Maybe if the whole film school thing doesn't work out, I could have one of those cooking shows where I scream at people while they drip sweat into frying pans."

Santana took another sip of her coffee, gazing at Brittany with unadorned pride.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's just... so nice to hear you being so confident again. It's a really good look on you."

Touched by these words, Brittany moved toward her again, taking the cup and setting it aside on the tray. With a suggestive smile, she pressed in for another kiss, murmurring with raised eyebrows just before their lips met, "There are actually _lots _of things I'm good at." As she pulled away from her mouth and began dropping soft kisses down her neck, Santana slid back against the pillow into a reclining position and let her eyes fall shut again.

"Oh believe me, I know."

But then after a minute or so she struggled to recall herself from the bliss, as if she'd just thought of something. "Britt..." she whispered, stroking a hand down through her hair. "My waffles are getting cold."

Brittany didn't raise her head. "Ooohh, is that some new dirty talk thing?" She continued her path down the swell of Santana's chest. "Cuz... I don't really get it, but you make it sound sexy." She gave it a try, in a husky whisper, "My waffles are getting cold too."

"No." She giggled, touching Brittany's face and gently angling her gaze toward the forgotten breakfast tray. "My _waffles_."

"Oh, right." Now Brittany stopped her kisses and reluctantly sat back. "I mostly just did all that to impress you and get in your pants, but, yeah," she gave a jokey shrug, "I guess you can eat 'em if you want."

"Thanks," she laughed, watching as Brittany carefully lifted the tray and then settled back down onto the bed, facing her. "But only if you share it with me."

They sat cross-legged with their knees pressed together, balancing the tray between them on their laps, taking turns passing the one fork between them and occasionally feeding bites to each other.

After waiting to see if the subject would come up on its own, Santana finally prodded, "So, why exactly are we awake at the buttcrack of dawn in our last week of summer freedom? Where are we going?"

"Mmm, I'm afraid I can't tell you that," Brittany said with regret.

Santana was suspicious, but still playful. "Why? Is it something I'm not gonna like?"

"No, you're gonna love it," Brittany assured her. "We're gonna have the most amazing day ever, I promise. It'll be legendary." She took a sip from the coffee mug, adding as though it were an afterthought, "But if I tell you what it is, you won't go."

"Oh, no," Santana said, a shadow of dread passing over her features. "We're not gonna go hang out with all those crazy people at the homeless shelter again, are we, Britt? Because I know they're your friends, and I know the assorted lunatics of the city really mean a lot to you, and they're great for your art..." she trailed off. "But those people freak me out. The last time we were there, that woman they call Toothless Judy _cut a lock of my hair _when I wasn't looking."

Brittany attempted to stifle her amusement. "Yeah, you were such a good sport about that, I was so proud of you. And you know, you should take it as a compliment, because Judy only does that to people she really likes."

"Even so," Santana tried to keep her voice neutral. "I was thinking we could make our visits, like, a once a year thing, maybe?"

"I kinda hate to tell you this, because that little worried crease you get in your forehead is so adorable..." as she said this she reached forward and smoothed the crease in question gently with her thumb, "but it's not the homeless shelter. It's something even _more _fun."

"Thank God," Santana said. In gratefulness, she speared the last strawberry with the fork and fed it to Brittany, who savored it slowly to make it last.

"You know, these are getting harder and harder to find at the market," Brittany remarked. "Pretty soon they'll be gone. Maybe we should buy a ton and can 'em for the winter, like old farm ladies do."

Santana looked skeptical. "Do you even know how to do that?"

"No. But we could figure it out." She looked undaunted. "What could go wrong?"

"Uh, botulism?" Santana pointed out. "If you don't do it exactly right, you can poison yourself."

"Hmm," Brittany mused, contemplating this. "Well, we can always give the first jar to Kurt and Rachel, see how it goes for them."

Santana watched her face for a few seconds, then laughed. "At least now I know you're joking. A few months ago I wouldn't have been so sure."

Brittany smiled in response, confirming she didn't mean it.

Santana suddenly seemed to remember their dropped thread. "Okay, if that was a distraction tactic, it worked. But you know, if you don't tell me where we're going, I won't know what to wear..." she gestured down at herself, to indicate she had on nothing more than a bra-less tank top and underwear. "And I can't get dressed."

Letting her eyes linger where Santana had drawn them, Brittany said, "I'm actually okay with that."

"Yeah, well, unless we're going to a strip club, you'd best start giving me some wardrobe ideas."

"Seriously, though, what you're wearing is fine," Brittany said. "There'll be people there who are even less dressed than that."

Now Santana seemed confused. "Wait, it's not _actually _a strip club, is it?"

"Do you want it to be?"

"Brittany!" She laughed, affecting an injured pose. "Tell me!"

"Okay, fine," Brittany gave in, amused. "But you have to promise you won't say no."

Santana seemed to consider arguing, but by this point she was too curious. "I promise. I mean, I can trust you, right?"

In answer, Brittany only grinned and reached over to the nightstand next to the bed. She opened the top drawer and dug around, looking for something that appeared to have been hidden deep underneath everything else. Then she pulled out two glossy strips of paper, which Santana could see at a glance were the Splish Splash season tickets, still unused, that she'd been given by her former boss back in April.

"No," she groaned, before Brittany had even removed them all the way from the drawer. "Oh no, nooo..."

"Yes!" Brittany insisted, talking over her. "You promised."

"I was so hoping you would forget all about those. Aren't they expired yet?" she asked hopefully.

"Nope. Not for another week, which is why we have to use them now. It's our last chance."

Santana crossed her arms, shaking her her head in a sulking way. "I knew I should have burned them when I had the chance."

"Okay, there's something wrong with you," Brittany said, teasing. "Santana, why don't you like water parks? _Everyone _loves water parks. They're like, the third greatest thing about America, after Beyoncé, and Bagel Bites."

"Oh right, because what beats going all the way out to Long Island to walk around barefoot in boogers and soggy pretzel crumbs with a bunch of shrieking kids and fat people exploding out of their spandex?"

Brittany tried not to smile. "You're such a snob," she told her, but in a way that made it sound like a compliment.

"You know, if you want to go swimming, I can think of plenty of better ways to do it. How about we head down to the Jersey shore?" She tried to make her voice sound tempting. "We can hit the waves, and go shopping on the boardwalk, maybe get our gambling on. What do you say?"

But Brittany wasn't falling for it. "I say... " Here she made a _thumbs down _gesture. "Because, one, the ocean is lame, it doesn't even have any water slides called Dinosaur Falls, so nice try. And two, with the season passes, the water park is free. Which is kind of crucial right now, because after our Epic New York City Summer of Magic and Romance, Copyright 2013... you and I, my dear, are pretty broke."

Santana sighed, letting reality sink in. "I know, I know. We really blew through the cash, didn't we?"

"We kinda did. And now that the tourists are going home, people aren't throwing as much money at me when I start randomly dancing in the middle of Times Square. Remember that week in July when I made three hundred bucks in an hour?" She paused to consider. "Of course, I think about half of that came from you."

"Well, you looked like such a pro out there, I couldn't help myself."

Brittany glowed just a bit as she absorbed this compliment, then turned to more practical thoughts. "I guess I should probably ask for more hours at work for the fall."

"Yeah, I need to start picking up some more gigs too," Santana agreed, "otherwise soon we're gonna be eating ramen noodles for every meal." She tilted her head and raised her gaze to meet Brittany's, her voice dropping into a softer register. "Still, though... After the summer we had, it was worth it, right?"

With a slight smile and a meaningful look full of love, Brittany leaned in closer for a delicate kiss, then whispered, "It was totally, one million percent worth it."

Looking back on it from now, it would have been difficult for anyone to deny that. Hard to believe that a few months ago, nobody had even thought it was a good idea.

In fact, they'd been strongly advised, by their friends and families and by New Yorkers alike, not to stay in the city over the summer. They'd been told that it would be hell, that the crime rate would go up, that the smell would sicken them, that the heat would kill them, that they would be stampeded by hordes of tourists and daytrippers if they went anywhere near Manhattan. But they hadn't listened, because the prospect of their first real chance to experience the city alone together, and with their relationship on such a newly solid foundation, had been too enticing. With Santana's college semester over, and with Kurt and Rachel gone until late August, nearly three months of freedom and solitude awaited. The city seemed to lay spread before them, an intoxicating, tantalizing world of possibility, offering the chance to experience all the quintessential New York City things they'd dreamed of experiening here, and most importantly, to do it _together_, in love and knowing with confident certainty that they would be together for the rest of their lives. How could they even consider giving all that up just because of broiling heat, the smell of sewage, and fat midwesterners in shorts elbowing them off the sidewalks? The answer was simple - they couldn't.

Of course, they'd made the requisite trip home to Lima first, to see their families. To not do so would have been to invoke a guilt trip from their mothers that would haunt their entire summer. It was better to do it right away, spend the last two weeks of June in Ohio, and return to the city with clear consciences. (One thing they hadn't returned to the city with, however, was Lord Tubbington. Despite Brittany's plans, things hadn't worked out quite as she'd hoped. In her absence the jilted cat had transferred his affections to her little sister, and although he was willing to consider a move, he was demanding certain conditions be met first. Namely, he wanted his own bedroom, a Metro pass, and a membership to a twenty-four hour gym. They'd offered to divide Kurt's room in half before he got home and had a chance to protest, but talks had stalled over the gym membership, which Brittany suspected he would never use. As things stood at the end of the summer, negotiations were still ongoing.)

But after checking Lima off the list, they'd returned and immediately moved into Mr. Bloom's apartment. Technically, with Kurt and Rachel already long gone, they could have stayed at their own place and had it all to themselves. But the option for a change of scene for a few months was too compelling to ignore, so they'd taken up residence just one door down from their own. In a fun way, they found that the influence of the more sophisticated, adult surroundings let them try on a new dynamic, that of an educated and urbane married couple who'd been settled in Brooklyn for years, collecting a life's worth of possessions. The bookshelves, the wine racks, the expensive-looking paintings on the walls, all of it contributed to the game, like playing house with a full stage set. Sometimes they affected upper crust accents and called each other Darling or Love, as in, "Darling, the pizza delivery boy seems to feel his tip is inadequate, whatever shall we do?" "Hmm, Love, that is quite the dilemma... have you asked him whether leaving here with both testicles instead of just one would be sufficient compensation?"

But most of the time they were more than happy to be their own young, carefree selves, traipsing around the city like it was their personal playground. They wanted to see it all, to do it all. And looking back on it, it really seemed like they _had _done it all. In the two months of July and August they'd attempted to squeeze in a lifetime's worth of New York. They'd ranged over the entire five boroughs, becoming experts at subway routes, at bus schedules, at the best places to catch a cab at any time of the day or night. They'd crossed off most of the big stuff, the tourist hot spots they hadn't gotten around to seeing yet, like the Empire State Building, Coney Island, and the Statue of Liberty, at which Brittany expressed disappointment that you couldn't even look up her giant robe to see what kind of underwear she had on. ("What's the point?" she wondered dejectedly.) And even though they had no interest in baseball, they managed to score free tickets to a Yankees game, where they spent the evening in the nosebleed section making out with each other and trying to get featured on the jumbotron. It was unclear whether they actually _had _been featured, however, since they'd become too invested in the making out and had forgotten to look up.

But even more fun than the tourist stuff, they both agreed, were the hidden jewels, the places known only to locals. Brittany's innate people skills, as well as the many connections she'd made with dog owners on her job routes, gave her a perfect "in" to events they would never have been invited to otherwise. Early in the summer, they'd agreed to say yes to everything, just to see where they'd end up. And in their opinions, they'd ended up in some pretty interesting places. They went to cocktail receptions, gallery showings, and restaurant openings. They went to retirement parties, quinceañeras, and even a bar mitzvah (this last at which they were accidentally discovered groping each other in a dark corner by a cluster of twelve year old boys who declared this to be forevermore "the best bar mitzvah _ever_.") They went to block parties on blocks they didn't live on, in neighborhoods they had no business being in, somehow always feeling like they were welcome. Once they even found themselves at a Santeria ceremony, which they sabotaged by making away with the goat intended for sacrifice, smuggling it onto the subway in Mercedes' handbag (this happened to coincide with the week she was visiting), then sneaking it into the Central Park petting zoo in the middle of the night. ("I don't even want to know what you two get up to when I'm _not _here," Mercedes had told them.)

Santana had kept her work schedule light, taking only a few wedding singing gigs, and Brittany had scaled back her hours at the dog walking agency. When she _was _scheduled, Santana often accompanied her on her rounds, since she'd discovered it was a fantastic opportunity to snoop through the homes of total strangers while they were out. The two of them spent one memorable afternoon on Park Avenue, trying on the furs and jewels of a fabulously wealthy elderly woman, Santana attempting in vain to convince Brittany that they should kidnap the Pekinese and demand a ransom in pearls. And feeling inspired by the intellectual atmosphere of Mr. Bloom's apartment, they'd visited dusty bookstores with the vague idea of starting a collection of antique lesbian erotica. Most of it was far out of their price range, but they'd acquired a few things, and were now the proud possessors of a privately published 1804 treatise on the joys of scissoring, complete with an illustrated diagram.

Per Brittany's special request, they spent a day at the Bronx Zoo, where they discovered to their delight a pair of lesbian baboons who insisted on fondling each other in full view of the public. ("If we were baboons, that would so be us," Santana remarked. As they'd continued to watch, a worried look crossed Brittany's face. "Is it weird that it's kind of turning me on?") They visited museums both of art and of science, valiantly pretending not to be bored while looking at paintings, then getting kicked out of the Natural History Museum for trying to take a selfie while riding a baby mammoth skeleton - even though, as Brittany pointed out, there were no signs _anywhere _saying this wasn't allowed. ("You'll be hearing from our lawyers," Santana warned as they were escorted to the exit by a security guard.)

On the music front, they'd taken in as much as they could find, from hipster bands in tiny bars and offbeat nightclub acts to sold-out big name concerts, including Beck at Prospect Park and Lady Gaga at Madison Square Garden. They'd also gotten killer discounts on Broadway shows by using Kurt and Rachel's NYADA student IDs, Brittany tucking her hair underneath a jaunty cap and portraying a disturbingly accurate version of Kurt, Santana explaining to the confused ticket agent who glanced from Rachel's picture up to her own face, "I don't photograph well." Feeling the need to inject some high culture into their whirlwind musical tour of the city, they'd even gotten dressed up in formal wear and spent an evening at the symphony for the last concert of the season, although they fell asleep against each other fifteen minutes into the performance and had to be woken by an amused janitor long after the theater had emptied.

When the crowds and the noise started to get to them and they missed the peace and quiet of Lima, they would head toward the sprawling green oasis of Green-Wood Cemetery, just a few streets away from their building. They reasoned that it was sort of like a park, only a park where most of the other people were dead. They even chose a headstone and decided to pretend it was a relative of Brittany's, the lucky winner being one Mahulda Pierce-Lesniak, who'd died in 1922 at the age of fifty. She'd been picked both because they felt sorry for anyone who'd gone through life with that name, and also because her grave was located in a nice, shady spot under a tree, with a view over the rolling acres and a koi pond below. Sometimes they even brought an illegal picnic when they visited her, planning to tell employees if they were questioned that it was great-aunt Mahulda's dying wish that her descendants eat kale chips on top of her grave in perpetuity. Santana began to regret the farce, however, when Brittany became convinced that Mahulda's ghost was dropping by the apartment in the middle of the night and stealing tampons. "That's ridiculous, why would she need those?" Santana had argued. "She doesn't even have a vagina!"

But Brittany wasn't persuaded. "I don't know, Santana, maybe she _misses _having one. What if she possesses one of us so she can borrow ours? I think we have to do an exorcism. I know a guy."

"Forget it!"

In the end they'd settled for letting their Jamaican neighbor Rhonda perform a cleansing ritual that involved burning "special herbs" throughout the apartment, then they'd spent the rest of the evening giggling uncontrollably and wondering why they kept craving Doritos.

But they hadn't passed the entire two months in solitude; there were visitors, like the aforementioned Mercedes, who came for the entire week before the Fourth of July, spending the holiday with them. They'd gotten fabulously drunk and watched fireworks from the roof, then re-enacted their epic girls night party, this time with Mercedes there in the flesh and Rachel chiming in over the phone. (Santana made sure to place the phone in a safe location so that there was no danger of accidental homicide-by-storm-grate.) Unlike their winter party, this time no neighbors called the cops; in fact, their performance attracted an appreciative crowd on the street below who shouted out requests. Maybe it was just the holiday atmosphere, but Mercedes was glad to take full credit for the difference.

And they'd had an unexpected visitor, when one of the high school girls Santana had met at the NYADA vigil back in March knocked on their door late one night, distraught and hysterical after being kicked out by her parents for coming out of the closet. Even though they'd been taken aback, and also afraid they weren't the right people for the job, they'd let her stay, trying their best to take care of her and make her feel like everything would be all right. After three days, her parents had regretted their mistake and showed up to take her home, to Santana and Brittany's infinite relief. It had been like a stressful, if rewarding, trial run for being parents to a fifteen year old. They were glad to get back to their self-involved, easygoing schedule of doing whatever the hell they wanted.

Typically, after jam-packed days roaming the streets or hopping from one random event to another, they ate ice cream and watched spectacular sunsets from the Brooklyn Promenade, or closer to home from the top of the grassy hilltop in Sunset Park, afterward holding hands and strolling the ten blocks back to their building in the lingering summer twilight. Then after returning home for a rest, a shared shower, and a change into sexier clothes, it was back out again to soak up the nightlife.

Of course, not every day was filled to the brim. Some days, in fact, when the heat became too much to bear or when the rain came down too hard, they didn't even leave the apartment. On those days they ordered food in or cooked for each other, stayed in their pajamas, or even in nothing at all, and were perfectly content to waste the hours doing something useless like watching _Sister Act 2 _three times in a row and then having marathon sex that could start in one room and end up in a totally different one. Once, they even managed to get from Mr. Bloom's living room into their own bed in their own place next door, afterwards having no idea how they'd succceeded in moving from one apartment into the other, especially while naked.

And that was another thing that had been a revelation this summer - the sex. Not that they'd ever had anything to complain about before in that department, but neither of them had ever imagined it could be like this. It was like they'd moved up to a new sexual plane of existence, where everything was familiar but at the same time searingly exciting and new. They tried everything that crossed their minds; new fantasies, new positions, new locations, new tricks and techniques and even toys, because why not? Why shouldn't a romantic morning transition into a kinky afternoon, and who even knew what the night would bring? Any passing whim or intriguing idea could be suggested and then acted on at a moment's notice - as long, of course, as they were both comfortable with it.

But that was the thing about this new phase of their relationship they'd entered into when Santana had come home to find Brittany waiting on the front stoop last spring. They were almost always comfortable with everything as long as they were experiencing it together, and if they weren't, there was no problem with saying so. No more hesitation, no more doubts, no more holding anything back because of the fear of what it might unleash, the status quo it might wreck. They were beyond that now, as secure in each others' love as if they'd been together for fifty years. When they could look across the pillow into each others' eyes and know, without one speck of uncertainty, that they would be looking into those same eyes until the day they died, it changed everything.

And that change had been what they'd been reveling in for this entire extended honeymoon period of a summer. It was strange, because in some ways, it felt like these few months had stretched and ballooned out, fuller and holding more than a few months could possibly hold. It felt as though they'd lived an entire lifetime since May. But in another way, it had all gone by so fast, an exhilirating montage, over in the blink of an eye. Or not entirely over, not yet; but almost. In just a week, school would start back up again. For Santana it was NYADA, which she contemplated with a mixture of excitement and profound misgivings, as well as a few regular college courses at night. For Brittany it was a small, quirky film school, only two blocks away from Santana's campus. She'd picked it not only because of the location, but also because when they saw her application reel, the faculty was so determined to recruit her that they offered her a scholarship that would cover nearly two-thirds of the tuition. Like Santana, she'd also signed up for a night class, in dance.

But school and everything it would bring in its wake was an entire week away, and right now, it was still indisputably summer vacation.

In Mr. Bloom's borrowed bedroom, with the tray askew on the nightstand as though it had been shoved there absent-mindedly, it seemed that the leisurely breakfast in bed had transitioned, as their breakfasts in bed tended to do, into morning sex, or at least the beginning stages of it. (Neither of them had yet figured out how they were going to re-adjust to starting a day without sex. Was it even possible? Would it be like quitting smoking?)

But this session hadn't yet progressed much beyond the high school level when Santana suddenly stopped, frowning. In the distance there came a faint knocking sound. "Do you hear that? I think someone's at the door."

Brittany listened. "It sounds like it's _next _door."

"But next door _is _our door," Santana reminded her.

She had to take a second to figure this out, then it clicked. She pointed at her. "I see what you did there."

"Screw it, it's too early. Whoever it is can come back later." She pulled Brittany back toward her, but Brittany paused their kiss when the knocking came again, louder this time.

"What if it's the Fed Ex guy, bringing us a discreetly wrapped package from that online toy store for grownups?" she whispered suggestively.

Santana gave her an intrigued look. "Why, did you order something new?"

"No, but... maybe they sent us something free, for being such good customers."

"I doubt it," Santana said, a little amused. But this time she was the one who broke their kiss, considering the idea. "Still, it wouldn't hurt to check."

"Yeah," Brittany agreed with a smile, as they pulled each other up and headed toward the front door.

Brittany unlocked it and they leaned out at the same time, peering into the dim hallway, down toward their own empty apartment. When their eyes adjusted, it became clear that, sadly, it wasn't the Fed Ex guy bringing them free stuff. Oddly enough, it appeared to be...

"Allison?" Brittany asked, unsure if she could trust her vision.

The figure turned toward them, startled. Now there was no doubt, it was definitely NYADA's own Allison DuPont - Rachel's idol, Santana's nemesis, and Brittany's former dance pupil. Despite the late August heat, she was dressed in her usual ensemble of black pants and a black turtleneck, her hair twisted up into a severe chignon on top of her head. Her only concession to the season was that the turtleneck was short-sleeved, or at least _shorter _sleeved, coming down to just past her elbows.

"Oh, hello," she said, unsmiling. She took a few steps closer to see them better. "I, um, I was under the impression that you lived in 403."

"Yeah, um... technically, we do," Brittany said.

She approached them, glancing at the number on the door they stood outside, 401. "Is this some kind of practical joke?" she asked, directing her words only to Brittany. "Because to be honest, I'm not a fan of those. Or of any jokes, really."

Santana looked at her like she was crazy. "How the hell could we play a practical joke on you when we didn't even know you were coming?"

Allison forced herself to acknowledge her. "Santana," she greeted her flatly. "So I take it you two are still together."

"Nice to see you, Allison... I'm really digging the summer wardrobe." She let her gaze take in the outfit. "Like a funeral on the beach."

Allison turned her attention back to Brittany, ignoring her. "You're looking well, Brittany."

"Thanks," Brittany said, touched, since from Allison this was high praise indeed. "We're actually housesitting for our neighbor, that's why we opened the wrong door. And we're trying to keep our bird from waking up, he's really not a morning person... otherwise we'd invite you in."

Santana shook her head slightly, as if to contradict this with, _No, we wouldn't._

"Are you looking for Rachel and Kurt?" Brittany continued. "Because they're not back from their summer stuff yet."

"Why would I be looking for them?" Allison seemed genuinely mystified.

"Why would anyone?" Santana couldn't help agreeing.

"Oh, okay, did you want to schedule another dance lesson then?" Brittany continued, trying to get to the bottom of this unexplained visit. "Because we don't really have the space here, we should probably stick to your place, with the studio right next door."

"See, that's the thing," Allison said, as if now they were getting somewhere. "I don't have a place. I'm homeless. I'm a homeless person. I have no home." A brief look of actual human vulnerability, panic even, crossed her face before disappearing like a vapor back into the usual superior haughtiness.

"I thought you lived in the NYADA dorms?"

"I did. But then I graduated, and _apparently_, you are no longer allowed to live there when you're not a student. I know," she said, as if they'd told her this was outrageous, which they hadn't. "I can't believe it either. And after all I've done for that place? All the pieces of my soul that I've carved out and willingly handed over to make it the elite institution that it is? Frankly, they should be naming that building after me, not kicking me out of it!"

"Wow," Brittany mouthed.

Allison went on as if she hadn't noticed. "So at the beginning of the summer I moved into one of the domestic sets in the scenery storage area, the one for _Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf_, it's actually quite cozy. But it seems that's not allowed either. Especially when one of the night janitors complained that hearing me practice my dramatic wailing at three in the morning, quote, _creeps him out_. So now I've been evicted, yet again."

Santana was sick of this already. "Why don't you go home to your parents for a while," she offered without sympathy. "Plenty of people do that after they graduate, it's no big deal."

"Oh, you see, I don't have parents. I had myself legally emancipated when I was fourteen. Parents are a sentimental indulgence. Plus I thought being an orphan would be great preparation for Greek drama."

Briefly speechless, Santana turned to Brittany. "You know, they call NYADA a school, but it's really more like an asylum. Seriously, I'm not sure I can handle going to classes with these people."

"_You _were admitted? To _NYADA_?" Allison's eyebrows went up in surprise as she seemed to fully look at Santana for the first time. "Goodness. Standards certainly aren't what they used to be."

At this, Santana cocked her head to the side and smiled at her just a bit, but it was a dangerous smile, like the symbol of a storm brewing.

Brittany recognized the warning signs and stepped in quickly, at the same time placing a calming hand on Santana's elbow. "Allison, it's really nice to see you, but is there something we can help you with?"

"And make it quick," Santana added, "Because we're actually a little _busy _at the moment, if you catch my drift."

She gazed at them both, uncomprehending. "You're not wearing pants, either of you. What could you possibly be busy doing, without pants?"

They stared at her, Santana with her eyes widened meaningfully, waiting for it to sink in. It didn't. She just stared back at them.

"Yeah, she's not gonna get it," Santana muttered to Brittany.

"So, what exactly was it that you needed?" Brittany was still in polite mode, but she also seemed to have no idea what was going on.

"Oh, I thought it was obvious by now," Allison said. "I need to live with you."

Taken aback, at first they couldn't formulate any kind of response. After a second, Santana managed, "Uhh... we barely even _know _you. Don't you have any friends you can stay with?"

"Brittany's my friend." She seemed confused, like this should have been clear. "I mean, she gave me those dance lessons. We danced together. I thought..." she trailed off, less certain.

"No, yeah, I'm your friend!" Brittany broke in with enthusiasm, feeling bad now. "Of course. I mean, duh... we're _totally _friends," she said, overselling it. "I just... I didn't know I was the only one. But that's okay!" she added in a hurry. "Um, yeah, I guess you could stay with us for a while, just until you get back on your feet?" She looked at Santana, who was wordlessly arguing against it, but who already seemed to know it was inevitable. "The thing is, though, we don't really have Mr. Bloom's permission to let anyone else stay here, so it'll have to be next door."

"Great," Allison said, not bothered, or not noticing, that they didn't want her staying with them in the same apartment. "That sounds good."

"Not in our room," Santana murmured to Brittany through clenched teeth.

"I guess you could sleep in Rachel's room for tonight?" Brittany offered.

"Actually, I'll take the sofa, if you don't mind," Allison said quickly. "I would feel strange about sleeping in Rachel Berry's bed."

"Who wouldn't?" Santana sympathized.

"So, that's settled." Allison breathed a sigh of relief, and for a second she seemed to be considering shaking Brittany's hand, like a business deal, but changed her mind. "I'll just grab my things."

"What things?" Santana asked.

Without answering, she disappeared down the stairwell. As they watched, she re-emerged just seconds later, lugging a massive suitcase and a duffel bag, which she dropped on the floor outside 403. Then she returned, apparently to the landing between the third and fourth floors, and came back up again, with more baggage. Santana and Brittany continued to observe, wordlessly, as she went back for a third and final trip, this time bringing up a suitcase on wheels and a huge overflowing box.

"Um..." Brittany said. Deciding not to comment on the amount of stuff, she settled on, "Okay! Let me just go grab the keys, and I'll let you in."

An awkward silence settled over the hallway as soon as Santana was left alone with her. Allison crossed her arms and tapped her foot impatiently. Then she decided, for some reason, to make an attempt at conversation. "How's the crime in this neighborhood? I couldn't help noticing it seems very ethnically diverse. To be honest, at NYADA, I'm more accustomed to _sexually _diverse."

Santana started to tell her that it was a really safe building and neighborhood, and that they'd never had any problems, which was the honest truth. But she caught herself in time. "I'd keep the door locked at all hours if I were you. Just last week, someone was bludgeoned to death right where you're standing."

Allison stepped backward, looking down suspiciously at where she'd just been. But she seemed more concerned about the state of her shoes than the murder itself.

Santana looked more closely at the pile of stuff she'd lugged up from the stairs. "Are those _curtains_?"

"Oh, yes," Allison said, glancing with pride at the dark bundles of fabric hanging out of the cardboard box. "I had them specially made, to block out all sunshine. Summer depresses me. There's so much light everywhere, so much heat. It makes me uncomfortable."

Santana was spared having to reply to this with more than a judgmental expression by Brittany's timely return with the keys.

"Okay, I can let you in now." On her way past she gave Santana a quick peck on the cheek, whispering, "Be right back."

Rather than offering to help with the obscene amount of luggage, Santana went back into Mr. Bloom's to wait, returning to the still-warm bed.

True to her word, Brittany returned only a few minutes later.

"So... that was weird." She closed the door behind her and sat down on the bed, wringing her hands a little and wincing. "Are you mad?"

"No, I guess not," she said, trying not to sound petulant. "I mean, what else could you say? She kinda turned into a sad puppy there for a minute."

"I know." Brittany lowered her voice discreetly, as though she worried Allison might hear them from next door. "I didn't even know she thought of me as a friend. She always ended our dance lessons by making me sign a contract that said I was liable for two million dollars if I ever told anyone she was taking them." She thought for a second. "Although I did spill the beans, and she didn't sue me, so... I guess I should have seen that as a sign?"

"Who knows," Santana shrugged. "She's a freak. But as long as she's out of there by the time we move back in, it shouldn't be a problem. We'll just avoid her as much as possible. Now... where were we?" She pulled Brittany back toward her again with a suggestive smirk, attempting to resume where they'd left off.

Brittany obligingly melted into her, pushing her back into the pillows. But instead of increasing in intensity, her kisses seemed to be gradually losing focus. Santana hooked one knee around her hips, tugging her even closer, trying to draw her into a rhythm, but it was clear by now that something was distracting her.

After a second Brittany withdrew a little from their kiss, still only inches away, examining Santana's lips in a thoughtful manner. Santana could still feel the heat from her skin. "What's wrong?" she whispered.

Brittany didn't answer for a second, still lost in thought. Then it was like a bolt of electricity had hit her. She sat up straight, her eyes widening. "Oh my God."

"_What_?"

"Oh my God, Santana! I just had the best idea I've ever had in my entire life, like ever. And I think we can agree, I've had some really, _really _good ones."

Now Santana sat up again, giving up on sex for the time being. "I can't argue with that."

"But this one is hands down, _numero uno_, the best one ever. That's Spanish for number one. You know that," she added quickly, with a distracted hand gesture. "But seriously, I'm telling you, it's the mother of all great ideas."

"Okay, well... don't leave me hanging. What is it?" She paused, then asked coyly, "Does it involve leather?"

Brittany smiled. "Nope, sorry... it's actually not even about us. But we should definitely put that in the suggestion box, for later," she added in a quick aside. "No, _this _idea is about Allison. And it's also about..." she drew the revelation out for suspense, tapping a drum roll on Santana's knee. "Millie. Okay, are you ready for this?" She practically bounced on the bed, glowing with enthusiasm. "I think that we should _set them up_."

"Set them up?" Confused, Santana paused to consider this. "Like, frame them for a crime?"

"No!" Brittany laughed. "Like, set them up on a date! We can play matchmakers, and get them to fall in love. Can't you just see it? It'll be so much fun!"

"_What_? Wait a minute, slow down, we don't even know if Allison is gay, do we? Have you ever asked her?"

"No, that would be rude. You can't just ask someone if they're gay unless you're giving them a blood or STD test, and I would just feel really weird doing that without a medical license."

"So you have no clue?"

"No, that's the thing, I do. At first I couldn't quite get a read on her, I kept going back and forth. But now I'm pretty convinced that she's a big huge lesbian," Brittany insisted. "I'm just not sure that she _knows _that she is."

"Brittany..."

"I know, I know, it sounds crazy. But I don't think she's ever actually dated anybody. She's so uptight and obsessed with theater, she doesn't focus on anything else. But I just get a really strong sense sometimes that she would be into girls if she ever gave it any thought. Also, I have this gaydar app on my phone? And I scanned her once when she wasn't looking, and it said she's ninety-six percent gay. Those numbers don't lie."

Santana started to respond, but then wisely made a last-second decision not to directly address the phone bit. "Still..." she said, "Even if she is gay, do you really think that Amelia would be the best person to try to set her up with? She _just _got out of rehab like two weeks ago, I'm not sure she's ready for a girlfriend. And you've already done so much for her, helping her find that new place so close to us, and getting her that job at the diner. You don't owe her anything, Britt. If anyone does, it's me, not you. I'm the one who treated her like crap." At this memory a shadow passed over Santana's face.

"Well, then... here's your chance to make it up to her," Brittany said. "I mean, what says _I'm sorry _better than, "Here's a new girl for you to sleep with"?

Santana laughed a little, but didn't seem convinced. "I wish it were that easy. But seriously, I can't even picture those two in the same room together, let alone dating. Think about it, Allison is just so _literal_. She's the least ironic person I've ever met in my life, she makes Rachel look like Janeane Garofalo. Meanwhile, every single word that comes out of Millie's acid-filled mouth is either sarcasm or a straight-up lie. How would they even communicate with each other? They're just too different."

Brittany was staring at her, delighted, waiting for her to catch on.

"What?"

"You don't see it? Santana, that's exactly what people would have said about us, if we weren't together. No one would have imagined that we would fit like human puzzle pieces and form the perfect, badass power couple that we so obviously are. What if in some alternate universe, someone decided not to introduce us to each other because they thought we'd never hit it off? And so we just go on our way, none the wiser, never even meeting each other and never getting the chance to fall in love."

"Well, I'm glad we don't live in that universe," Santana assured her.

"Me too," Brittany agreed, shuddering. "I kinda just freaked myself out a little."

"Look, I get what you're saying. And maybe you're right, maybe they'd be great together. But don't you think the timing is a little off? Allison has no place to live and clearly no idea how to exist outside of the padded rooms of NYADA, and Millie's an addict who's _just _starting to put the pieces back together. They have bigger things to worry about right now than dating."

Stubbornly, Brittany persisted. "Well, _I _think it sounds like the perfect time to start dating. Why should they go through all that hard stuff alone when they could maybe have a girlfriend there by their sides? And, I mean, what's the worst that can happen? They don't hit it off, and they stay single?"

Santana tried to think of a logical answer to this, but couldn't seem to. She sighed. "You're not gonna let this go, are you?"

"Nope," Brittany smiled. "The wheels are already turning, I've got so many ideas. I've always wanted to play Cupid! And not just because I sometimes have a really overwhelming desire to shoot sharp arrows into people's butt cheeks. It's because I want to make people fall in love! You'll help me, right?"

"No no no no, I didn't say that," she protested, shaking her head. "I understand why you want to do this, it's one of the things I love most about you. I just don't think it's a good idea for me to get involved, it's _really _not my kind of thing. But I'll totally root for you from the sidelines," she offered in attempt at cuteness, knowing that it sounded lame.

Miffed now, and refusing to meet her eyes, Brittany said, "Fine, that's just fine. I don't need your help. You're right, you'd probably just poison their love with your horrible attitude." She shrugged, like it was no big deal. "It's better if I just do it myself."

Then she rested her chin on her knee, pouting and staring at the bedspread. She glanced at Santana covertly from the corner of her eye, then continued to sulk. A very brief silence ensued.

"Fine, I'll help you," Santana gave in.

Brittany smiled, her pout evaporating like it had never been. "Oh my God, that was so pathetic. Like, literally three seconds..."

"Yeah, well if you didn't have to be so criminally adorable," Santana reached over and gave her leg an affectionate shove, acknowledging her total powerlessness to resist.

Brittany caught her hands and squeezed them, buzzing with eagerness. "This is gonna be so much fun, I swear you won't regret it."

"Okay, but listen, Britt," Santana said, trying to sound serious. "You have to promise me that you're not gonna get your hopes up too high. Because I _know you_, I know how you are. And to be honest, I think there's a greater chance that Kurt and Rachel will fall in love than that these two will. I just don't see it happening. And I don't want you to feel like it's your fault if it doesn't work out."

"No, I get it, and you don't have to worry about me, I'm not gonna put all my marbles in one parachute." She continued over Santana's perplexed look, "I know there's only so much we can do. _But_," she added slyly. "We're gonna do our best. And the first step, obviously, is to just... throw 'em at each other and see if they stick. Who knows, maybe that's all they'll need. Maybe fate'll take over from there, like it did with us. I have a really good feeling about this. And, I don't know if you know this, but my instincts for love are never wrong."

Santana smiled a little. "I guess that's true."

Brittany looked down at the quilt, suddenly becoming more serious, almost shy. "It's just..." she began, hesitant. She looked up again, her voice still quiet. "I'm so happy. I'm just so, _so _happy right now, and I know you are too. Because I would know if you weren't."

At this, Santana's features softened even more.

Continuing in the same tone, Brittany said, "And I just wish everyone we know could have what we have. If there's the chance that they could have even a tiny little _fraction _of what we have, they'd still be so happy. You know?"

Santana gazed back at her, unable to speak for a second, her expression a mixture of emotional and turned-on. "Get over here," she finally whispered.

Brittany grinned and moved toward her in a kind of slow-motion pounce, dipping her back yet again onto the pillows, her hair cascading down to curtain Santana's face. _Finally_, no interruptions.

There followed a passionate, energetic half hour in which sheets were gripped in sweaty palms and ripped from the mattress, pillows ended up on the other side of the room, teeth marks were left in shoulders, nails were raked over backs, and words were cried out in both English and Spanish and possibly some languages that didn't even exist (loud enough to permeate the entire fourth floor, so that if Allison had been clueless about their intentions before, she couldn't possibly still be at this point.) At times like this the king size bed didn't seem nearly big enough, although they made full use of every inch of it. First Santana peaked, then Brittany, then a quieter interlude passed, a kind of intermission made up of delicate afterglow kisses that instead of tapering off slowly built back up to a crescendo, finally exploding in a grand finale that somehow ended with Brittany hanging off the edge of the bed, upside down, her head nearly touching the floor.

"Babe," she gasped, "Help!"

Santana dragged herself across from the other side of the bed, where she'd apparently been flung. She gripped Brittany's hands and yanked her back up onto the bed, where they collapsed next to each other with their heads at the footboard, breathing hard, waiting for their heart rates to return to normal.

"Sorry," Santana panted. "I'm not really sure how that happened."

Brittany turned her head on the mattress to look at her. "It's okay," she said, resting a hand on her chest and taking a few more big gulps of air. "I kinda liked it. Even the part where I passed out for a second."

"Yeah?" Santana giggled, intrigued by this idea. "Maybe I should try it next time." She started to say something else, but then broke off, distracted. Slowly, she sat up, a faraway look of concentration on her face.

"What are you...?"

"Shh," she stopped her. "Do you hear that?"

Brittany suddenly looked nervous. She glanced around the room. "Mahulda?" She crossed her legs tightly and shielded her groin with her hands. "Get your own!"

"_No_," Santana said in a _Don't be ridiculous _tone, swatting at her hands playfully. "It's coming from the stairwell."

_Now _what? At least they knew Allison couldn't have invited any friends over, since she didn't have any.

The sound was muffled at first, but as the voices moved higher a few words drifted out, clear and audible. "...enormous critical acclaim," and "_Christine Ebersole_!"

Santana narrowed her eyes as she listened intently, recognition slowly dawning on her. "Hold up, did you just hear the name Christine Ebersole?" she muttered. "Because _that _sounds like a Broadway argument."

More words reverberated through the wall, clearer now, coming from the fourth floor hallway, in a loud, carrying voice that could only have belonged to one person. "...won a Tony for playing dual roles in Grey Gardens. It's been done before, Kurt!"

Brittany sat up, and the two of them looked at each other, surprised.

"I thought they weren't supposed to be home until tomorrow," Brittany said. A hint of worry flickered across her face. "Oh no. Do you think we went into a sex trance and lost a whole day again?"

Santana's immediate reaction was a look implying this was silly, but then she paused for just a second to consider it, troubled. She glanced toward the calendar on the wall by the door.

"Maybe we just got the day wrong," Brittany said. She studied Santana. "Do you want to go say hi?"

Santana considered this, seeming a bit torn. "They probably think we're still asleep. We could just ignore 'em."

"Yeah, we could. But..." She reached out and gently brushed a stray lock of hair behind Santana's ear, teasing, "I kinda think you missed 'em a lot."

"No, not a lot," she protested. Then she shrugged, acknowledging, "Maybe a little."

"Yeah, maybe," Brittany bit her lip, not buying it. "Actually, I think maybe I missed 'em a little too."

They held each others' gazes for a few more seconds, a wordless conversation taking place, forming into an agreement. In the same motion they climbed off the bed, quickly yanked their scanty pajamas back on, and headed toward the living room with an air of anticipation.

At the front door to the apartment, Brittany opened it quietly and they both peeked out, looking down the hall for the second time this morning.

Standing next door outside their own apartment, surrounding by luggage, it was, as expected, Rachel and Kurt. Oblivious to the fact that they were being watched, Rachel was continuing her argument.

"I don't understand why you're being so stubborn about this! Letting me play both the original and the Rachel version of Greta is the only thing that makes sense."

"It makes the opposite of sense," Kurt told her, sounding like he'd said this plenty of times already. "The whole point of my script is that Pete recreated his family with _new _people in the building. If you play both versions, it defeats the entire meaning of the story!"

"That's where you're wrong," she insisted. "I can make each version totally different, but with just enough similarity so that it's obvious why he got us confused. I mean, you've seen that picture, Santana and I look like those women!" An idea struck her. "I've got it, in the 1930s version, I can wear heels, and she can wear flats. It'll make the characters completely distinct from the modern ones!"

"Oh, please," Kurt said, "That has nothing to do with the characters, you just want to be taller than her."

Brittany glanced at Santana with amusement to see how she was reacting to this. So far, the two of them might as well have been invisible, there was no indication they'd been spotted.

Still not giving up, Rachel continued, "You know, Kurt, I feel like you're not seeing what I'm seeing, maybe if we did some hair and makeup, some wardrobe testing..."

"Oh for God's sake, I said I would think about it," he interrupted her. "Now would you please suspend your shameless begging and just open the door? I had three espressos on the plane, you know what that does to my bladder."

Rachel gave him a blank look. "What are you talking about? I thought you had the keys."

"Rachel." He stared at her in dismay. "_Again_?"

Finally, to get their attention, Santana cleared her throat in a stagey manner.

Kurt looked up and Rachel spun around, startled, their surprise almost immediately turning into joy when they saw it was Santana and Brittany.

There was a lull, a few seconds in which the four of them only looked at each other. In this pause they all seemed to briefly contemplate a calm, mature reunion, something suitable for the sophisticated urbanites they now were. But then Rachel hunched her shoulders and raised her eyebrows in clear anticipation of something bigger, while Brittany bounced on her toes a little and Kurt's eyes grew suspiciously moist. Santana held out the longest, but then she smiled too and rolled her eyes, giving in. At the same time they all moved forward for one giant, mutual, laughing group hug.

"Welcome home!" Brittany said, her voice muffled by Kurt's shoulder. She waited what she seemed to feel was an appropriate amount of time, approximately four seconds or so, as the hug went on. Then she asked, "Did you bring us presents?"

Rachel gave a loud laugh. "_Maaaybe_," she teased.

Suddenly, before they could even pull apart, the locks clicked and the door to their own apartment swung open. Everyone froze and glanced up.

There was a stunned pause. Then, "Allison?" Rachel asked, bewildered. She seemed to think she might be hallucinating. "What... what are you doing in our apartment?"

Allison ignored her, directing her words to Brittany. "As an official roommate, am I expected to join in on this whole..." she gestured distastefully with her hand, "group hug situation?"

"Um..." Brittany sounded uncertain. "You can if you want to?"

Considering this, Allison stared at them all for a few more seconds, seeming uncomfortable. She shook her head. "I don't." She closed the door again, and they heard it lock behind her.

Kurt and Rachel turned to Santana, baffled and wordlessly waiting for an explanation.

"We... got you guys a present too. The possibly lesbian, definitely obnoxious former NYADA queen bee herself. And she's all yours," she told them. "Surprise!"

Behind her, Brittany clapped her hands, trying to drum up enthusiasm. "Yayyy!"

Kurt and Rachel seemed less excited. "I don't understand," Kurt said. "She's... living here? With _us_?"

"You know what, we can talk about that later," Brittany brushed him off. Then an idea seemed to strike her. She gasped, "Oh my God. Do you guys want to go to a water park with us? Like, right now?"

Santana attempted to subtly signal that they should say no, with a tiny shake of her head and a warning look. When Brittany turned toward her to enlist her support, she smiled innocently.

Kurt and Rachel had noticed the look, and knew what she wanted them to say. So of course, what they said instead was, "Really? That's so sweet!" and "Ooh, sounds like fun."

"Awesome," Brittany said. She was totally wired now, all energy. She turned to head back to Mr. Bloom's, giving Santana's arm a squeeze. "I'm gonna go get our swimsuits out and start packing a beach bag." To Rachel and Kurt, she ordered, "You guys get dressed, we're leaving in half an hour. Swimwear only! Bring towels!" As she disappeared into the apartment they heard her shout, "Dinosaur Falls, here we come, _woo_!"

Left alone with her, Kurt and Rachel now regarded Santana, a bit wary, also a bit smug. "So..." Kurt attempted with a chuckle. "How have things been?"

She gave them her best faux-angelic smirk, intended to terrify. Just before she turned to follow Brittany back inside, she said, "Oh, we'll catch up later, don't you worry." It was more of a threat than a promise. She sent them one last ominous glance as she pulled the door closed behind her.

Now Kurt and Rachel were left alone in the empty hallway. They looked at each other, as if wondering what they'd gotten themselves into.

"Feels like home," Rachel commented wryly.

Then they turned to stare at their own door, closed and locked in front of them.

"And... we still don't have a key," Kurt muttered.


End file.
